Sunday, May 31, 2015

I
just got back from my trip to the UK to attend the fabulous Smut by
the Sea event in Scarborough. While I was away, I had not one but two
new releases. So which one should I promote?

It’s
a tough decision. The only possible answer is: both! You’ll find
blurbs and excerpts for both Fourth World and The
Last Amanuensis below. Check them out, then leave me a
comment with your email. I’ll randomly select one person from all
the people who comment, and give that individual whichever book he or
she prefers.

Oh—and
since today’s Sunday, one of the excerpts includes a snog. Don’t
forget to visit Victoria’s place for more Sunday kisses!

Fourth
World: Tales of monsters, myths and magic

Paranormal erotica
by Lisabet Sarai (30K words)

Excessica, May 2015

Enter
the fourth world - a world of lust and shadows, where anything can
happen.

Obsessive
passion and dark ecstasy mark these seven stories of paranormal
desire from eroticist Lisabet Sarai. An undead couple hunts for
beauty and youth in the history-drenched streets of Prague. A sex
addict meets his fate in the embrace of a seductive monster. An
innocent writer offers her body and heart to a century-old ghost. A
spiritual seeker succumbs to temptation in the arms of a fearsome and
greedy goddess. A kinky, blood-drenched threesome unfolds in a
luxurious Bangkok penthouse. These tales conjure the magic of sex,
and its dangers. Expect to be unbearably aroused and occasionally
terrified. Do not expect happily ever afters.

Excerpt

The
lightest of pressures, the briefest of touches, but it sent tremors
through her sex. Instinctively, Beth parted her legs and rocked her
pelvis forward, seeking more solid contact. The shopkeeper obliged,
slipping one slender finger into the mass of moist curls to her
center. Sparks leapt from that finger, raced through her, leaving her
weak and breathless.

"Please..."
she tried to say, not really knowing what she was asking for but
wanting it more than anything. She had no voice, though, no will. She
could barely stand.

The
proprietor smiled at her reflection, kind, encouraging. "Come
here, my dear." He led her to the velvet chaise. "Lie back.
Relax."

Beth's
mind flailed wildly, even as her body obeyed the man's suggestions.
She searched his mild, middle-aged face, seeking reassurance. In
response, he knelt in front of her, gently but firmly pushing her
thighs apart. Then he removed his glasses, and his eyes were
unveiled. Beth thought of the ocean, of the sky, of a gas flame,
azure bright, almost transparent. And then of a star sapphire,
ever-changing light sparkling in blue depths.

Then
he bent his mouth to her sex, and Beth forgot to think.

Sensation
and emotion, velvet wetness and diamond sharpness, his tongue a
feather and a sword. She writhed and shook, keening like a madwoman.
The shawl slipped away from her body. The velour upholstery grew damp
beneath her. Beth did not notice. He licked, nibbled, probed her
depths, breathed her, drank her, buried himself in her, swallowed her
whole. She did not know what it was that he did, only that it brought
near-unbearable ecstasy. The world shattered and fell away as
pleasure drowned her.

The
Emperor has decreed that Reason will rule in his lands. Art and
literature are banned in favor of military technology. The fearsome
Preceptors prowl the capitol, arresting anyone who dares, even
secretly, to engage in forbidden activities.

He
told me once, as dawn neared and the candles sputtered out, that I
was the most skilled of all the secretaries he has employed over the
years. I remember his praise on the nights he does not require my
services, when I lie awake thinking about him and our perilous
enterprise. It almost melts the lump of cold fear that has taken up
residence in my chest.

“Adele?”

“Sorry,
sir.” Picking up the instrument (one of his many clever designs),
I apply the needle once more, resolutely ignoring the tiny gasp that
escapes him. “Just three more words,” I add, tracing the
pointillist curve of an S on the still unmarked spot below his right
kidney.

He
remains silent. Unutterably brave. I check the scrawled page spread
out on the table, just to be sure—the ink is unforgiving of
mistakes—then bend again to his pale flesh. Blood wells up from one
of my punctures, glittering like a ruby in the snow. When I wipe the
surface with an alcohol-soaked napkin, he quivers upon the mattress.
Probably he is reacting to the sting, though I like to imagine it is
my touch that affects him thus.

Though
I know he'll be angry, I cannot stop myself from stroking his naked
arse, tracing the lines of text that march up the swell and down into
the hollow between his legs. Some are written in my neat, squared
hand. Others are unfamiliar. All are beautiful, a thousand words in
reds, greens, purples; opulent as some medieval manuscript.

My
employer shifts again, spreading his thighs a bit so that I glimpse
the dusky, wrinkled mass of his sac. His living warmth penetrates the
rubber of my gloves. I nearly tear them off, just so I can feel his
skin against mine. My fingers tingle, drawn to his illumined flesh
like steel to a magnet.